


Abrazame

by MissELY



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Omega Hermione Granger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:48:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22442863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissELY/pseuds/MissELY
Summary: Professional Quidditch Player Marcus Flint desperately wished he had skived off practice. Instead, he ended up with several broken bones, a distinct lack of dignity, and a mate.Healer Hermione Granger had been having a perfectly normal day, until she wasn't.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Ron Weasley, Marcus Flint/Hermione Granger
Comments: 66
Kudos: 605
Collections: Good Girl Hermione





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by Abrazame - Los Rakas
> 
> This is (almost) entirely already written. It should be all posted by the end of February.

Marcus Flint knew he had fucked up.

He had been a professional Quidditch player for almost 8 years now. He knew the limits of his team, his broom, his body. He had exceeded all three on this occasion.

He hadn’t been feeling well going in to practice. He had felt off balance, achy, on edge, just generally out of it. If it had been his choice, he would have spent the day curled up on his couch amusing himself by alternating napping, playing with his cat, and reading the latest Quidditch Weekly in a luxurious bath. Sure, he was a burly Quidditch player, but that didn’t mean he didn’t adore the shit out of a good bath bomb.

But it hadn’t been his choice. Coach had made it clear that if they were not at death’s door, they were expected to show up for practice. He had briefly thought calling in sick anyway, but he knew that if he did it would just mean a double workout the next day.

So instead, he had gotten on his broom like a good little boy, and had run through drills with the other chasers. They had been running through a particularly complicated variation on the Faradaggio Cyclone when Marcus’ vision had begun to grey out at the edges.

Desperately, he tried to land his broom in a safe manner, but had completely blacked out before he had been successful.

He could tell his landing had been unsuccessful because he was currently on a St. Mungo’s hospital bed with his arm and leg elevated by levitation charms. It was not a flattering position considering he was also in a hospital gown. Nothing was left to the imagination if one was standing at the right angle.

The small amount of dignity he had been afforded was a private room.

He had woken rather abruptly a few minutes ago and had already categorized his injuries and the estimated healing time. There was a game in a week, and if the healers were worth their salt he should be fine to play by then.

There was something still...off about him though. He tried to think. He hadn't eaten anything strange. It was mid-season, so he was on the strict diet plan that the team nutritionist demanded all players adhere to. He hadn’t taken any drugs. His body was a temple. Or more accurately, they were tested once a week, and his schedule didn’t allow for any recreational fun.

Oh shit.

He did the mental math in his head. His last rut had been almost six months ago. As an Alpha his ruts were not as predictable as an Omega’s heats, but his tended to be every six months or so. 

He must have been distracted. After all, Puddlemere had almost been in the playoffs. And his last rut has lasted a shorter time than normal. And he had also just gotten back from a match in Hawaii and the time difference…

Marcus internally shrugged. He had dealt with his ruts on his own since he had first come to season. Not for lack of offers. Being a professional Quidditch player did have its perks after all. But his parents, despite their pureblood bigotry nonsense, had hammered in that unless he was ready to bond his mate, his perfect match, his other half, he should handle his ruts on his own.

He may have ignored almost everything else his parents had told him, but that had been sound advice.

Oh well.

He just had to get out of the hospital and back to his flat in about twelve hours or so and he would be able to handle it himself. Or at least he hoped he would. With a broken arm and leg, it might be more difficult than usual. But he had some fun sex toys and had invested in a good number of porno mags, so he had faith in his ability to soldier through.

The door to his room creaked open.

Marcus felt the world shift.

As the air from the hallway wafted in he picked up the most delectable scent. Old books and roses and just a hint of sweetness. His mouth began to water, and he knew.

What bloody inconvenient timing.

When he was a young pup Marcus had dreamed of meeting his mate. Maybe after he had single-handedly won the Quidditch World Cup. Maybe after he had made himself rich. Maybe after he had been on the cover of every issue of Witch Weekly for a year straight. He would be in full dress robes, looking debonair and suave. He hadn’t imagined he would be confined to a hospital bed in a dressing gown that did nothing for his respectability while bruised and broken and on the edge of a rut.

But the universe apparently cared little for Marcus’ desires.

Instead his mate, his destined, the future mother of his pups, walked through his hospital room door.

The first thing he noticed was that she was all business. She had her curly hair pulled back in a rather severe bun and her healer's robes were without adornment. Her no-nonsense flats barely made any noise on the floors. As she entered she was looking down at what must be his chart as she took her first step into his room.

As the door clicked shut behind her, her head shot up and a hunted look entered her eyes.

That’s when he recognized her. Hermione Granger. He hadn’t seen her in a decade if you didn’t count her wanted photos in the Prophet during the war or the nasty gossip articles that came after.

He almost smiled when he pictured his entire family rolling over in their graves. A Muggleborn would continue the Noble and Ancient House of Flint.

Well at least he hoped she would. But she looked so bloody scared of him right then.

He met her eyes and the alarm there dampened his desire and amusement at the situation. Her scent also changed, turning slightly sour with fear.

“Granger,” he said. His voice was rough and at least half an octave lower than usual.

“F-Flint. I-I’ll be your Healer. It-it l-looks like you’ve fractured your humerus and broken your t-tibia.” Hermione‘s face was bright red and her knuckles had gone white with her grip on his chart.

“Yes, well…” Marcus trailed off. He was not sure how to go about this. In the cheesy romance novels he would never admit to reading, all an Alpha had to do was smile in their Omega’s direction and the poor bastard would come running. But that was obviously not what was happening with him and Granger.

He decided to ignore his cunning Slytherin instincts and just go full bold Gryffindor.

“So,” he cleared his throat, working up the courage. “It seems like you’re my mate.”

Hermione met his eyes again, that hunted look still there. She was silent.

“I...uh…” he swallowed, trying to clear his throat. “I think I’m going in to a rut soon. And I’m sure this is as much a surprise to you as it is to me. So maybe...would you like to go get coffee or something..in like 3-4 days?”

The look in Hermione’s eyes changed from hunted to baffled.

She edged closer, peering down at him. Her steps were slow and hesitant.

“This—I just—this is not what I expected.” She finally got out. She bit her lip and he clenched his fist to stop himself from reaching out to touch her mouth. Her lips looked soft.

“Well, me neither to be honest,” said Marcus running his un injured hand across his scalp.

She shifted closer again and her scent wafted over him. He had been almost hard since she first walked through the door, but her nearness now did it for him. It was rather undignified, he thought, shifting to try to conceal his erection, that he had to meet his mate under these circumstances. His discomfort with the indignity of it all did nothing for the pulsing in his hard thick cock that grew more intense as she neared.

He heard as Hermione took a deep breath. She shuddered slightly and her eyes fell shut in obvious ecstasy.

Maybe this wasn’t that bad after all.

“I should...I should recuse myself as your healer. I’m obviously in no condition to give your treatment the proper attention and care it deserves.” Hermione forced out, her tongue running across her lower lip. His eyes followed the movement closely.

Marcus resisted the urge to reach out and touch her. Just barely.

“I don’t know about that, but I would very much like to take you to coffee, lunch, dinner, an extended romantic vacation, really anything, very soon.”

A small smile graced Hermione’s lips for the first time since she had walked through the door. Marcus thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“I would like that. We need—we need a real discussion. Sometime soon. After your—your rut obviously.” Hermione tried to take a deep breath but she hitched on the inhale. She was visibly flustered, a lovely blush covering her neck and cheeks. He obviously wasn’t the only one affected by scent.

Marcus flexed his free hand focusing on the movement of his fingers to try to distract from her nearness. All he wanted was to hold her, to soothe her obvious anxiety, to be a good Alpha for her and protect her.

“Yes, yes that would be good. Can I give you a firecall? Today’s Monday, so maybe Thursday?”

He watched as Hermione gripped his chart tightly to her chest and straightened her spine. If she was in as bad a state as he was, he had to admire her wherewithal. The only reason he had stopped himself from gathering her up in his arms and rubbing his cheek against the scent gland on her neck was because he was physically restrained from moving at the moment.

She nodded vigorously and took two big steps away from his bed. She inhaled sharply again and then promptly turned tail and ran.

Marcus focused on relaxing his taut muscles so that he would not give in to his instincts and try to chase after her, broken bones be damned. 

The Hermione Granger he had known—or more accurately—had _known_ _of_ in Hogwarts was the high-strung type. He considered himself rather laid back and this unexpected revelation had even thrown him, so he could only imagine how it must be for her.

He closed his eyes and tried to recall Quidditch plays to tamp down his erection. He just needed to get out of here and he would form a plan. A seduction plan. A really wonderful seduction plan.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus sends Hermione a note, and Hermione has a little freak out about the turn of events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who read, kudos'd, and subcribed. Special thanks to those who commented, it's so lovely!

Marcus ended up not being able to wait until Thursday.

He was released from St. Mungo’s a few hours later with strict instructions to keep off his feet and prescriptions for several potions to drink at regular intervals. 

He was standing in line at the apothecary when he suddenly realized that Hermione probably thought he was a Death Eater. The thought was so sickening to him he almost dropped the vial he had just been handed.

The idea made him nauseous, and he immediately wanted to go to her, to assure her that he wasn’t a prejudiced git like his father, and mother, and brother, and entire extended family had been. Sure he had been an arsehole as a kid, but that was years ago. He had stopped being a little shit and had been working successfully as a teammate and a friend with all sorts for years now. Not to pull the “I can’t be prejudiced because I’m friends with a Muggleborn” card, but he was. He had even served as the officiant when Pucey married Justin Finch-Fletchley.

But she wouldn’t really know that. He had been absent during the war. He played for the Moose Jaw Meteorites in Canada for the duration of the hostilities. Since returning to Britain he had shied away from press attention whenever possible.

He let out a shaky breath and tried to strategize. She had said he could fire call her after his rut. Maybe he should send her a letter or something in the meantime? A letter would work. Something so she could go into their second face-to-face interaction sure that he didn’t want her dead because of who she was.

He discarded 8 drafts before his rut hit in full and he was forced to abandon his letter until it eased a little. When he got his wits about him again he knew more or less what he wanted to say.

* * *

For the first time in her five years at St. Mungo’s Hermione had asked for a full week off. Her supervisor had been so shocked at the request that he had granted it immediately, sure that she must be dying to actually use her accrued vacation time.

Hermione could use a break, given the bombshell that had been dropped.

Everything had been fine up until then. She was working as the on-call Healer in the Emergency Department, a normal 48 hour shift. It had been relatively calm. 

In hour 4 there had been a splinching accident that she had quickly triaged and sent to the appropriate department. 

At hour 12 there had been an accident in the second year potions class at Hogwarts and Madam Pomfrey had not been able to care for all the injured children. That had taken close to 10 hours to finish up. 

She had gotten in a small nap in the on-call room and had been woken at hour 29 to care for a toddler who had gotten into his family’s potions cabinet and managed to drink an entire bottle of expired hair growth potion. The kid had been fine, but she had been forced to give his frantic mother a strong calming drought and strict instructions to better secure potions from little explorers. 

Then right after she had sent the grateful mother on her way, it had been an Omega going through an unexpected heat. She had shepherded him into one of the safe rooms they kept just for that purpose.

She was ready to go back and kip in the on-call room again when she got a notification that there had been a broom accident. 

Given the small size of Britain’s wizarding population, she was used to seeing familiar names and faces come through the emergency department. She strived to treat them with a calm but professional detachment. 

So when she saw “Flint, Marcus Aurelius” on the file she had merely shrugged internally. She may not have actively followed Quidditch, but enough time hanging around Harry, Ron, and Ginny and she had passively absorbed a few things over the years. She knew Flint was a professional chaser for Harry’s favorite team, Puddlemere United. A fact that when brought up in his presence, Harry would always sulk over. 

When she put her hand on the door handle she felt something shift in her chest.

Her mother had always told her that when she met her mate she would just know. Hermione had loved hearing the story about how on the first day of uni her parents had been in the same orientation group. They had taken one look at each other and had fallen in love. They told her that that one moment let them know in their bones that they were it for each other, without a shadow of a doubt.

The smell was the first thing that hit her. It was overwhelming. Spice and a woodshop and maybe a hint of the sea. She felt a blush immediately bloom, starting from her chest and making its was up her cheeks. Her insides went liquid and heat rushed to her core. Her panties were more than damp and she was suddenly hyper-aware of the throb of her nipples under her sensible bra.

If someone asked her what he had said, or what she had said, or even what his injuries were, she would not have been able to answer. She knew that she needed to get out of the room quickly if she wanted her dignity in tact. She retained enough sense to know she had to pass on his case to another Healer. She thought that maybe she had agreed to a conversation with Flint at some point in the future. But by the time she had practically run out of the room, the only thought running through her head was  _ my mate, my mate, my mate, mine, mine, minemineminemine _ .

She rushed home after practically throwing Flint’s file at Malfoy, who was the other Healer working in the Emergency Department that day.

When she finally got through her own door she had immediately put up her wards and retreated to her bedroom. She threw herself on her bed, still fully clothed and tried to breathe deeply. His scent had somehow managed to cling to her and she shuddered when it hit her again.

She was still soaking wet, so when she shoved her hand under the waistband of her slacks and panties she was met with her own slick warmth. She arched her back a little and rearranged herself to kick off her clothes and shed her Healer’s robe. She bunched the robe, brought it to her face, and inhaled deeply, hoping for one last hit of his scent. There was just a hint of him left on her robe. She rubbed her face against it and moaned out loud.

She dropped the robe on the bed next to her. One hand went to her clit, circling it with two fingers while her other hand pinched her left nipple then her right through the material of her shirt and bra. She was so turned on already that it only took a few minutes before her pussy was clenching down on nothing and her hand stuttered as it circled her clit in fast little circles.

After she came down from her orgasm she had taken account of her circumstances. She could still feel the low thrum of arousal, winding its way through her abdomen. Flint had thrown her into a heat—off schedule. She hadn’t been due for another two months, but less than five minutes in his presence had set her off.

While her heat was in a lull she gathered up all her clothes, put them in her hamper, and began gathering supplies. Luckily she had gone to the grocery store the day before, so she had enough frozen meals, snacks, and meal replacement drinks to make it through the rest of her heat. She collected the variety of vibrators and dildos she had acquired to see her through her heats alone and began making her bed into a better nest.

It had been almost 24 hours later when she heard her mail ward ping. She pulled a robe on, her hair a mess, slick dripping down her thighs, and made her way to the window she accepted owls from.

There were two waiting for her. One she recognized as Pig, the other was a tawny owl she didn’t recognize at all. 

She took the letter off of Pig first and shook it open quickly. It was from Ron, he had heard from Lavender who was told by Parvati who had been sworn to secrecy by Padma who Romilda Vane, a Mediwitch at St. Mungo’s, had told that she seen Hermione run off with Flint and that they had gotten married right there in the hospital and were now on their honeymoon.

The tone of the missive was decidedly not congratulatory. 

Ron was apparently rather indignant. He and Hermione had lasted no more than a week after the war, before deciding mutually that they were much better friends than lovers. It had helped when Ron had presented as a Beta. It helped even more when Ron realized he was exclusively into guys.

He still had a rather large possessive streak, but Hermione was aware that it was more protective and brotherly, than it was actual jealousy. Besides, he had recently started dating Malfoy, and they seemed very happy together. It was deeply strange and Hermione didn’t pretend to understand their dynamic but she couldn’t deny that this was the happiest she had ever seen Ron, and he had mellowed significantly. 

Malfoy was still a prat, but she now enjoyed his sharp tongue and he never directed it at her. It had helped that Malfoy had apologized for his role in the war both with a sincere in-person plea for forgiveness and also a very beautiful set of phoenix quills, and a large donation to her favorite creatures-rights organization.

She could only assume Ron had resorted to the game of gossip telephone because Malfoy had refused to say anything about her hasty departure.

Hermione went to her desk and jotted down a brief reply.

_ Ron, _

_ Not on my honeymoon. Alone in my flat. Went into heat. We’ll talk later. _

_ -HJG _

She grabbed Pig from where he was bouncing, secured the letter to his leg and sent him off.

She then turned to the other owl.

This one would have to be dealt with quickly. She felt her clit began to pulse in time with her heartbeat. She could feel another wave of her heat coming on.

This one was from Flint. She could tell because it smelled like him. She brought the parchment to her nose and inhaled deeply. It was subtle, but it was there.

Intellectually it made sense. He was in a rut right now, and so his scent would be thicker than usual. Her heat also made all her senses much more acute.

Hermione used the hand not holding the letter to pluck at one of her nipples, twisting slightly. She hissed in pleasure and tried to refocus on the content of the missive.

~~_ He  _ ~~ _ Miss Granger, _

_ I know I said I’d firecall on Thursday, but it occured to me that you might believe that I’m the cruel boy I was at school. In your shoes I would not put much stock in my word that I have indeed changed. So instead I’ve included a list of references. They’re not my close friends, some of them think I’m a right arsehole, but they’ll be honest about my character. _

_ I can swear on my magic that I’m not, nor have I ever been a Death Eater, I’ve never supported You-Know-Who, and I’m not a blood-purity supremacist.  _

_ I hope this eases some of your fears. I know even though  _ ~~_you’re mine_ _you’re my mate_~~ _ I’m yours, you still need to be able to trust me. _

_ Please owl if you have a questions, otherwise I’ll speak to you on Friday. _

_ Yours, _

_ Marcus _

_ References: _

_ Justin Finch Fletchley _

_ Gemma Farley _

_ Draco Malfoy _

_ Madam Hooch _

Hermione could have been knocked over with a feather. This had not been what she was expecting at all. She had been terrified when she realized that Flint was her mate. She knew, again from too much time spent around Quidditch fanatics, that Flint had been in Canada playing for a Quidditch team there throughout the war. 

She didn’t begrudge him his absence. There had been many times, especially in the tent in winter, where she had wished she had been anywhere else.

But his absence from combat during the war had not meant that she had no fears about him. Her only real memories of him had been from their overlapping time at Hogwarts. She had known him to be a cruel bully who put little effort into his school work.

That was not the impression she got from the man who wrote her this letter though. This man was thoughtful, kind, and self-aware. His concern about her feelings made a warmth settle in her chest that was not tied to the arousal she was feeling.

She knew she did not have time to compose the thoughtful, elegant, and lengthy reply that his kindness deserved right now, nor did she have time to compose letters to his references. But she did have time to let him know that she had gotten his letter and appreciated it.

She grabbed another sheet of parchment from her desk. After a moment of consideration she rubbed the parchment over the scent glands on her neck so that it would smell of her.

On the slightly wrinkled sheet of paper she wrote her reply, gave it to the waiting owl, and retreated back to her bedroom to deal with her heat.

The note read:

_ Marcus, _

_ Thank you. _

_ Hermione _

* * *

Marcus was in the middle of trying to scrounge together something resembling a meal when his owl returned. He eagerly removed the letter and unfolded it quickly.

It smelled of her. It smelled like she was in season.

The idea that she was in heat right now was almost too much for Marcus to bear. He forced himself to take several calming breaths. Going full Alpha would do no good right now. It’s not like he could storm over to her flat and pin her to the wall and drop to his knees then he would lick the slick from the inside of her soft satiny thighs—

No.

He didn’t even know where she lived.

Instead he focused on the short reply. He really couldn’t read much into it. But the fact that the letter smelled so strongly of her meant that she had scented it purposefully. Which had to be good. Right?

He took the letter back with him to his bedroom and tried to find release by himself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Flint speak, Ron gets his two cents in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read/kudos'd/subscribed/bookmarked/reviewed. I deeply apprciate it! Always happy for feedback! This story should be wrapped up by the end of next week.

Marcus was true to his word and firecalled her at 8am on Thursday. She had stayed home, in part to finish recovering from her heat, but also because she was vibrating with eagerness to hear from him and could not fully concentrate on anything else.

Hermione had done her due diligence. In the two days between receiving Marcus’ letter and Thursday she had contacted every person on his list.

Malfoy had been the first and the easiest to get ahold of. 

He had responded promptly. Because he was sharp, he had correctly assumed that Marcus was her Alpha. He had been honest with her and painted a picture of a mean and confused kid who got their shit together after they had moved away from their toxic home. According to Malfoy, he and Marcus didn’t really socialize anymore. But that he knew that Marcus had been disowned by his family for refusing to support the Dark Lord, and then reinstated after all his family had been killed in the fighting during the war. Malfoy knew that Marcus was still friends with some of the old crowd from Slytherin, but mostly just the Quidditch guys. But really, they hadn’t said more than a passing hello in several years now.

The next owl had gone to Madam Hooch. 

Madam Hooch had obviously been very confused to hear from Hermione, seeing as she had done everything possible to avoid interacting with brooms after the mandatory lessons during first year. But Madam Hooch had been helpful. She told Hermione that Marcus was the sponsor for the school brooms. With his support Hogwarts had been able to purchase a new set and pay to keep them safely maintained. Marcus had also helped her start a free summer Quidditch camp for any student interested in learning more about the sport. Apparently, Marcus was exceptionally good with kids, especially the ones that came from rougher backgrounds. It was clear from the letter that Madam Hooch was proud of the former Slytherin Captain, it shone out from every word she wrote.

Gemma Farley’s response to her owl had not been pleasant. 

The return owl had begun with a demand to know why Hermione was asking about Marcus. It was then that Hermione remembered that Farley had dated Marcus. So she had owled a witch asking questions about her ex-boyfriend, which in retrospect was rather rude. The description of Marcus that Farley painted was not flattering, but it was not bad. Farley apparently had wanted a Quidditch boyfriend who was interested in indulging in the glamorous aspects of that lifestyle. She complained that Marcus never got her enough gifts, that he was too much of a homebody, and that his post-Quidditch plans were too small for her liking. Apparently wanting to maybe teach or coach or perhaps just stay at home were not what Farley had in mind. It was clear that the break-up hadn’t been amicable because Farley referred to Flint as “that asshole” for the entirety of the letter.

Surprisingly, the biggest endorsement of Flint had come from Justin Finch-Fletchley. Hermione had not been in touch with Justin since shortly after the Battle of Hogwarts. She knew that he had gotten a Mastery in charms, but she had lost track of him after that. 

The biggest surprise was that he was married to Adrian Pucey. The second biggest surprise was how obvious it was from his response that he considered Marcus a close friend. He described his initial hesitation about socializing with Marcus, but that he had quickly changed his mind. Marcus, according to Justin, was exceptionally kind, perhaps a little quiet in large groups of people, straight forward, and level-headed. Pretty much the polar opposite of how he came across in school. Justin said that Marcus had been the officiant and his and Adrian’s wedding two years ago, and that they were going to ask him to be the godfather for their firstborn when the time came.

The letters had reassured Hermione that she wasn’t about to meet a Death Eater and that perhaps she was even about to meet a very nice man who she was exceptionally chemically compatible with. She had never fully bought into the “one true mate” Disney ideal. But she couldn’t deny the appeal and how the idea tugged at the romantic nature she kept close to her bones. She also couldn’t deny the many examples of happy and successful mated couples she knew. Her own parents were mates and sometimes still acted like lovesick teenagers.

She still needed more information though, so, Hermione being Hermione, she had made a comprehensive written list of questions she wanted answers for. She was grateful that this conversation would be over floo. It would hopefully prevent her from making a complete fool of herself in front of him. She vividly remembered how it felt to be enveloped in his scent, how delicious and out of control it felt to have him so close. So the distance would hopefully help her keep her head.

With those things in mind Hermione had woken up very early, showered, carefully applied subtle but flattering cosmetic charms, and then spent an hour dithering over what to wear.

She settled on a sun dress in pastel green and a white cardigan just in time to hear her floo notify her of an incoming call. She restrained herself from running over, but it was a close thing.

“Hello?” Hermione was embarrassed at the anxious breathless quality her voice took on.

Marcus’ face appeared in the fire. It was never the easiest to read expressions in a floo call, but Hermione thought he looked a little anxious too.

“Erm-Hey.”

“Thankyou,” it came out in a rush all at once. Hermione cleared her throat and tried again. “Thank you. The letter—the references—it was very helpful. It was very thoughtful of you. So, thank you.”

Marcus cracked a smile. “You’re welcome. It occurred to me that your only memories of me might be from school. I was a right little prat then, and I didn’t want you to be...scared.”

“Yes, I mean, no, I wasn’t scared. But having information is soothing.”

He nodded and cleared his throat slightly. Hermione was tickled by how nervous he seemed.

“So. I still have some questions.”

Marcus looked relieved that she was taking the lead in the conversation. “By all means.”

She dove right in. “How do you feel about my heritage?”

“I couldn’t care less.” His answer was immediate and confident. “I mean, I care because they’re your family, but having Muggle parents doesn’t make me think less of you.”

She nodded and check the question off her list. It had been the answer she expected, but she wanted to be sure, and needed to hear it directly from him.

“I do remember a little of you from school. You seemed to hold Pure-blood supremacy views then. What changed your mind?”

“My parents were full blown Pure-blood fanatics. My dad and older brother were Death Eaters. When I was little, I was like most kids and copied them. By the time I was old enough to think for myself I was in Slytherin, surrounded by the kids of Death Eaters. I didn’t want to become a target, so I kept up appearances. Don’t get me wrong, I was definitely a mean little shite, but blood-purity never really meant much to me.”

“Okay,” said Hermione, looking down at her list “And what about during the war? I know you were in Canada.”

“I was a coward,” said Marcus bluntly. “After graduation I got a one year contract with the Falcons. My family was pressuring me to join him. I couldn’t. I knew I couldn’t. But I also couldn’t bare the thought of turning my wand on the people who raised me, the friends I’d had since I was a child. So I ran. I got the Moose Jaw Meteorites to offer me a transfer and I had left Britain before the ink was even dry. My parents disowned me for leaving. Or at least they tried to. I came back...after. I knew it was a weakling’s move. But I just...couldn’t stay.”

Hermione set down her parchment and gave him a soft, thoughtful look.

“I don’t think you were a coward. A coward would have stayed and gotten marked. A coward would have caved to his loved ones. I hate it—being a hero. It’s awful. There were so many days in the war where I wish I had gone to Australia with my parents. There were so many times I thought of leaving. There were so many people who stayed and died horrible deaths.”

Marcus’ gaze was intense and held hers. “But you didn’t. You stayed and fought for the Light.”

“But it cost me...parts of myself.” Hermione looked away from Marcus. “It cost all of us parts of ourselves. Even you, I’m sure.”

The silence lingered for a second and Hermione looked down at her hands that were clenched in the skirt of her dress. She took a deep breath and made a conscious effort to relax her hands.

“I’m the last Flint,” Marcus said, voice not as steady as it had been. Hermione was glad she wasn’t the only one affected by the conversation. “After I left for Canada my parents tried to ritually disown me. But then my brother was killed and they had to take it back in order to have an heir again. They both died in the Battle of Hogwarts.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Hermione said softly.

“Don’t be. They were terrible people, and by the end, their deaths were a mercy. They were such angry and twisted people.” He sounded bitter and sad still, and Hermione’s heart went out to him. 

“Still, losing family, no matter how you lose them is...hard.” 

Marcus looked down, but said nothing.

“So,” Hermione said, taking a deep breath, deciding to change the topic to something less heavy. “What are your career plans?”

Marcus, looked up, smiling a little. “I would love to coach Quidditch or teach flying. Not at the professional level though. I’d like to work with kids. Madam Hooch has been making noise about retiring in the next couple of years. I’d love to take over.”

Hermione hoped that Marcus couldn’t see her blush. The idea that he was good with kids, that he would be good with their pups, was deeply attractive.

“That sounds lovely.” Her smile came across in her voice.

“What about you? Would you like to stay at St. Mungo’s?”

Hermione frowned slightly. If he had asked her this two years ago, she would have told him that she planned to be the first Muggleborn Director of St. Mungo’s. But the internal politics and back-biting had changed her mind. She had spent all of her childhood fighting for her friends, for her right to exist, for all of Magical Britain. She was just so tired of fighting.

“I’m not too sure. In a couple of years I’d like to maybe take a quieter position. Transfer to a private clinic or something. I love being a Healer, but the Emergency Department is a lot, and St. Mungo’s is all politics. And I’d like...I’d like to have a quieter career when I have pups.

Hermione watched as Marcus swallowed hard. “So you—you want children?”

“Yes, definitely.” Hermione’s answer had been immediate and sure. “I’m on birth control right now but in a couple of years probably. Maybe sooner, depending on my job a-and yours?”

She hadn’t meant that last part to be a question. Hell, she hadn’t really meant to say that last part at all. But he was so much more than she thought he would be. And she found him deeply attractive, even without his intoxicating scent.

Marcus gave a jerky nod and let out a sharp breath. “Yes. Yes, me too. I mean—I want kids, and I’d like to be out of professional Quidditch by then. Too much travel.”

Hermione looked down at her list, even though she knew what question was next. “Which brings me—I’d like to continue to work. Even after kids. I need to. I can’t be one of those Omegas. Barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. I just can’t.” It came out stilted and nervous. She knew that if they were bonded he would have power over her, and legally he could stop her from working if he wanted. She needed to maintain her independence.

“Of course not. I would never—I mean…” Marcus sighed, trying to center his thoughts to explain. “My mother was an awful, awful person. But she was an Omega and worked her entire life. Before she died, she was the second in command at the Daily Prophet. I would never ask that of you—of any Omega.”

“Okay. Good—that’s good.” Hermione let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. That was her biggest fear, if she was honest. That Marcus wanted something that she could not abide. “So how would you feel about dinner tomorrow?”

“Yes. Yes definitely.” Marcus was silent for a minute, thinking. “Would Leaky work? I know we’re still mostly strangers, despite all this. So if you would be more comfortable meeting in public, that is fine by me.”

Hermione smiled at his thoughtfulness. “That would be perfect. I’ll see you at 7?”

“Yes. I’m looking forward to it. Goodbye” Marcus smiled and Hermione felt warmth rush over her skin that she couldn’t attribute to the heat of the fire.

“Goodbye.”

Hermione disconnected the floo connection and collapsed onto her nearby couch. If it had taken her a full hour to decide on an outfit for a firecall, how long would it take her to decide on an outfit for a date?

* * *

Hermione had done the only thing she could think of. She had invited Malfoy over. He was the most level-headed of her friends. Harry was away on some Auror nonsense Ginny was at the Harpies training camp. Ron would just be of no use generally.

So Draco had flooed over three hours before her date. Of course Ron showed up as well.

Hermione had been the one to reintroduce Ron and Draco. She had held a party for her birthday over two years ago and had bit the bullet and invited them both. There had been a betting pool on how long it would take the two of them to come to blows and there to be bloodshed, but instead they had snipped at each other for a couple of hours and then disappeared. 

When Hermione had gone looking for them she had found them pressed up against a wall in the back hallway of Leaky practically eating each other alive. They hadn’t even noticed her, so she let them be. 

It had been three months later that Ron had finally let slip that they were seeing each other. Mrs. Weasley had been none too thrilled at first, but Draco had charmed her with weekly flower deliveries and a new muggle tool set for Arthur.

They were both Betas, so they weren’t mates, but they were a wonderful couple, and Hermione was sure she would get to be in the wedding party someday soon.

The sweet unexpected love story was no comfort to Hermione right now though, as Ron stepped through her floo, already red in the face and pointing a finger at her.

Draco was right behind him, cooly composed and watching his boyfriend with a sort of amused detachment.

“Flint ‘Mione? Flint?!”

It was only years of built up tolerance that stopped Hermione from just pushing Ron back through the floo.

“Draco, lovely to see you. Thanks for coming over. Wish you would have left your angrier half at home though.”

Draco elegantly shrugged a shoulder and sat down on her overstuffed couch. He eyed her critically for a moment. “That’s not what you’re wearing. Right?”

“No Draco, I don’t plan on wearing my pyjamas out on the date.” She would have rolled her eyes, but she really did need Draco’s help picking out an outfit. Outside of work he always dressed like he could be walking in Paris’ Fashion Week.

“Flint?!” Ron’s voice cracked in indignation.

Hermione turned to her oldest friend.

“Yes Ron. Flint. Marcus Flint,” she bit out. “It’s not something I consciously chose, you know. It was _very much a surprise_ to me.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and forced herself to take a calming breath.

Ron made a squawk that sounded like an objection and Hermione cut him off. “He seems to have grown up quite a bit since school. He has been very thoughtful and caring about the whole thing. He even provided me with a list of references to ease my mind.”

“Is that why you owled me earlier this week asking about him?” Draco’s tone was mildly curious.

Hermione nodded and refocused on Ron. “I would appreaciate it if you would _calm the fuck down_ becuase there is only space in my flat for one freak out at a time, and I think you would agree that I am entitled to priority, given that it’s me who’s mate is _Marcus Flint._ ”

Ron stared at her for a moment, slack jawed. His shoulders lifted as he inhaled deeply and then exhaled. He nodded sharply and his mouth clicked shut.

Hermione nodded in return and then turned towards Draco. “So. What should I wear?”

“Well. Do you plan on fucking him tonight?”

Hermione actually thought on that point for a second as she watched Ron fight the urge to say something. She didn’t _plan_ on sleeping with him tonight. But she had read about how hard it was to resist your mate. Sleeping with your mate on first meeting or first date wasn’t unheard of and in fact was the norm. Not completely-overcome-your-rational-mind hard, but they were very sexually compatible. She remembered the difficulty she had not jumping Marcus’ bones when he was in a hospital gown. So if the date went well she wouldn’t be _opposed_ to sleeping with him.

“Maybe. I’m not sure.”

Ron pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes and sat down heavily on the nearest chair.

“Do you even know _anything_ about him?” Ron choked out, obviously trying to sound calm and mostly failing.

“Well dear,” despite the many changes time had wrought in Draco Malfoy, he was still a sarcastic bastard. “ _I_ did live in the same House with him for years and he was _my_ Quidditch Captain, so perhaps I can help allay some of...whatever this is.”

Draco’s hand did a sweep encompassing Ron’s hunched form.

“His references were very good.” Hermione said, crisply.

Draco examined her. “Out of curiosity who else did you talk to?”

“An ex-girlfriend, Madam Hooch, and Justin Finch-Fletchley. They all had positive things to say about him. Well, Gemma thought she was trashing him, but all she really said was that he didn’t act like a stuck up prat and didn’t like publicity.”

Draco nodded thoughtfully.

Ron removed his palms from his face. “Justin? I haven’t heard from him in ages. Justin vouched for him?” 

“Yes Ron. Justin is married to Adrian Pucey now. Marcus officiated their wedding.”

That stopped Ron cold. “Flint? _Flint_ officiated the wedding of his Pure-blood friend to a Muggleborn?”

“Yes. Justin also said that they planned on asking Marcus to be the godfather of their first child.”

Ron leaned back into the chair. “Huh.”

Malfoy shot a smirk at her. “Marcus? He gets first name privileges?”

She felt her cheeks warm with a blush. “Well, he has been very thoughtful.” She took a breath and focused on the task. “So I need to know what to wear. It needs to be appropriate. But I have no idea what appropriate means.”

Draco got up and made his way to her bedroom. She heard him rifling through her closet. 

“Do you know where you’re going?” Draco’s voice floated in from the other room.

“Leaky, we’re meeting for dinner.”

“That’s a shite first date.” Ron said.

“Rich coming from you,” snapped out Hermione, half a smile on her face. “Our first date was to destroy a horcrux. That wasn’t exactly world-class date planning either.”

Ron chuckled and got up, making his way to the kitchen to put on the kettle for tea. “For the record, I still think he’s a tosser.”

“That’s fine, you’re not the one going on a date with him,” said Hermione, rolling her eyes.

Draco came out of her room, holding three dresses. “Well Granger, it looks like you have some acceptable options. Now, go get in the shower and we’ll try to make you presentable.”

* * *

  
  


Marcus would not have been surprised if he had worn a hole in his rug pacing in front of his fireplace. He had been dressed and ready to go for the last 45 minutes. But if he had left then, he would have been an hour early. Which would have been weird.

Plus it was better to freak out in the privacy of his own home than it was to do so in public.

Fifteen minutes. It was acceptable to be fifteen minutes early, wasn’t it?

Marcus smoothed down the front of his jumper and shoved his hands into his pockets.

Ten minutes, ten minutes would be more normal. He just had to wait five more minutes and it wouldn’t be as weird.

He checked his pocket again for his wand.

He checked the clock again.

Okay. Thirteen minutes it was. He grabbed a handful of floo powder and stepped in to the flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still debating between four and five chapters. If there is a fifth chapter, it will be an epilogue of sorts to assure everyone that Hermione and Flint are happily ever after. But then again I might just put that in a oneshot later on.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Marcus go on their date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is where the fic earns its rating.

Hermione was fifteen minutes early. She had dallied as long as possible until Ron finally pushed her through the door, telling her that if he had to spend any more time with her in this state he would go round the bend. Draco hadn’t disagreed and merely patted her cheek like she was a small dog he was fond of, and sent her off.

That’s how she ended up at a table in the corner of the Leaky Cauldron, under a variation of a notice-me-not charm, focused on folding her napkin into the smallest shape possible while studiously ignoring the fluttering feeling in her stomach.

She felt him enter. 

It was silly, she was sitting as far from the floo as possible, but she could swear she felt something shift as he stepped out of one of the fireplaces.

Her head shot up and her eyes scanned faces until she found him. He looked powerful. 

She had never really thought he was handsome at school. He had been so big and his teeth would have made her parents shudder. But she wasn’t a little girl anymore and his bulk didn’t scare her, it excited her. He was almost a foot taller than her and well built. She pressed her thighs together, thinking about how he could probably support her weight as he fucked her up against a wall.

She let out a quick sigh and tried to think more G-rated thoughts. He had gotten his teeth fixed at some point. That was nice, her parents would approve. How would it feel to run her tongue—no. Standing up, she smoothed her skirt down with her hands and turned to greet Marcus.

His smile was shy, but warm. She smiled back.

Hesitating as he stopped slightly in front of her, his hand held out in greeting. Hermione made an impulse decision and hugged him, her arms wrapping around his middle, his automatically going around her shoulders. She felt his fingers grasp the material of the blazer Draco had insisted she wear over her dress and she couldn’t help the contented noise that came out of the back of her throat. It was half-purr, half-sigh.

He was pleasantly warm and his scent soothed her. She felt herself melt against him and his arms squeezed her tighter, supporting her. She nuzzled her cheek into the soft fabric of his jumper and inhaled deeply. He felt like home.

Hermione released him after slightly longer than was appropriate and took half a step back.

“Hi.” Her arms went down and her hands clasped together in front of her

“Hi.” Marcus’ voice came out a rasp. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Hi.”

Marcus held out her chair for her, and she sat, smiling at the old world chivalry. 

“You look lovely, wonderful, just—you look very nice.” The compliment came out stuttered and Marcus blushed, but to his delight a matching blush appeared on Hermione’s cheeks.

“Thank you very much. You look very nice yourself.”

They sat in silence for a minute, Hermione busying herself straightening the silverware and Marcus looking at the menu. It was awkward now. Hermione forced herself to move her hand away from the place setting and laced her fingers together to stop from fidgeting.

They both opened their mouths at the same time.

“I—” Hermione cut herself off.

“Are—” Marcus pressed his lips together to stop himself.

They both smiled, cheeks rosy.

“Sorry, please—” 

“I’m sorry, you—”

They laughed, slightly embarrassed at their inability to have a conversation. Marcus mimed locking his lips and gestured for Hermione to continue. The motion made her smile. 

“Sorry, I just was wondering if you were playing in the game on Monday? I know you were released from St. Mungo’s but I didn’t know if you’d been cleared to play again.”

“Yeah, I’ll be up there. I was cleared this morning by the team Healer.”

“Oh, good!” Hermione’s hands went back to straightening her silverware again, almost against her will. 

She was much more nervous than she expected to be. It wasn’t a scared-nervousness, Marcus had managed to sooth that away with a letter and a firecall. But a nervousness that this might be the first of many dates, with a man who was her life partner. The comforting but wildly aphrodisiacal scent Marcus was putting out didn’t help her nerves any.

The silence lasted a beat. 

“So Justin told me you had written him.”

She looked at him, meeting his gaze. “Well, yes. I mean, you provided references, so I had to check them.” She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Did you let them know beforehand I’d be in contact?”

Marcus’ chuckle was warm and sent shivers up her spine. “No, I got an irritated owl from Gemma, wanting to know why someone had contacted her asking about me.”

“I’m sorry.” Hermione refocused on the silverware and then glanced up to meet his eyes again. “But it was nice to hear that you don’t like being famous any more than I do.”

“I hate it.”

“Me too.” 

They shared another smile.

Marcus cleared his throat against the laugh of joy there and offered to order for them at the bar. Hermione readily agreed.

When he got back they struck up a lively conversation. Hermione was in many ways shocked with how entertaining he was. She knew from their interactions that he was not the brutish oaf she feared he was when they ran into each other at St. Mungo’s. But she’d admit that even at the beginning of this date she thought he would be...well, dumb. 

He wasn’t though. Sure, he didn’t get the reference to the Odyssey that she made, but hell, neither would Harry and Ron. Plus, he had asked what it was from, and when she gave a brief outline of the plot, he made her promise to lend it to him.

And he could talk about more than Quidditch. They also did talk about that, but it was on a more abstract level than just who’s up and who’s down. He told her about why he loved the sport, how free he felt flying, and the chance for a career that it had given someone who didn’t thrive in traditional academic environments. When he talked about flying he lit up, and grabbed her hand that was resting on the table to emphasize a point he was making. 

When there skin touched his eyes had flashed with heat and something that looked like hunger, and it made Hermione blush and bite her lip to try to school her reaction.

He didn’t let it go the rest of the evening, and she was glad.

In turn she opened up about how she feared how fragile she felt on a broom. He extracted a promise that she would try flying with him, and she thought she just might actually like it if she could fly with him.

When he went to get the check she made a decision. He was it. It wasn’t just that they were mates, it was that he was kind, and thoughtful, and that he made her laugh. The practical side of her was slightly aghast at how quickly she had accepted this, had accepted them. But hadn’t she seen it so many times before? They could make it work. They would.

  
  


* * *

At the end of the night, by mutual accord, they decided to walk back to Hermione’s flat. It was half a house that was only a ten minutes from the Leaky Cauldron through the Muggle part of London. 

Marcus caught her hand as they walked out on to the street, putting her on the inside, away from the busy traffic. It was a natural instinct, he wanted her protected, shielded.

He brought their linked hands to his mouth, and placed a gentle kiss on the back of her hand. Hermione felt herself blush and gave him a sincere smile. He was so close and she felt enveloped by his scent. Unlike their first meeting in the hospital, she found it comforting rather than frightening. She felt herself leaning into him as they chatted and walked down the street.

All too soon they arrived at her home.

Hermione gestured to her door, and she and Marcus came to stand in the archway.

“This is me.” Hermione took a deep breath and looked up to meet Marcus’ gaze. “Thank you for tonight. I—I’m so glad it’s you.”

Marcus stepped in close and brought his palm to her cheek. She leaned into the contact. His hand was warm and rough with calluses from years of gripping a broom handle. She felt her core grow damp in response to his nearness and she let out a small contented sigh.

“I’m glad too.” He dragged his thumb across her bottom lip gently. “You’re perfect for me.”

In that moment she came to a decision. She needed one last set of assurances. Yes, they were chemically and emotionally compatible, but she had to make sure they were sexually compatible. She wanted to be sure that her gentle giant could also fuck her so hard she forgot her own name.

Hermione placed a hand on the back of his neck and pulled him down into what she had intended to be a gentle kiss, to ease him into it. But when she ran her tongue against the seam of his lips she wasn’t able to hold back the whimper of pleasure that his taste induced.

In response Marcus growled low in his throat and physically picked her up, pressing her against her front door, and opening his mouth to hers and ravaging her.

His display of physical strength was a huge turn on. She wrapped both legs around him, pressing their cores together as best she could. She took the hand that was not gripping his neck and used it to smooth down his shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles. She was hot where her abdomen was pressed against his, and she could feel her nipples and clit throb with her heartbeat. She was being consumed. She loved it.

He could smell her now. Her sweet smell had gotten more earth and he longed to put his face between her thighs and lick her clean of the delicious scent. His hips ground against her involuntarily. He pulled back, panting.

He was gratified that she was breathless as well.

Marcus pressed his forehead against hers. “If this is too much, too soon, tell me now.”

“No,” her response was sure and low. Her pupils were blown wide with lust and she squeezed him closer with her legs. “No I want this. I want you.”

Marcus let out a groan and dropped his head to her shoulder, momentarily overwhelmed. His position brought him close to her scent gland. He turned his head and nuzzled her neck, licking her gland. She moaned, throwing her head back to allow him better access.

“Not yet, not now, but when you’re in heat I’m going to drive you so crazy that you’ll beg me to knot you, fill you, and mark you as mine.” His voice was low and she felt the words vibrate through her. “The only thing you’ll be able to do is plead for my cock, for my bite.” He emphasized his point by nipping at her pulse point. “But for now I’m going to eat you out until you scream my name and then fuck you until I make you come again on my cock.”

Hermione let herself whimpered out loud this time, any worry about sexual compatibility erased from her memory. She hadn’t expected her sweet kind Alpha to have such a dirty mouth. She fucking loved it. She pulled his face so their mouths met again. His kissing style was focused and aggressive, it made her forget that they were in public, that she was wrapped around him for any passerby to see. But she wanted more. She wanted her lips around his thick hard cock. She could feel it pressing into her now as she rocked against him, movement constrained between the door and his bulk.

She kissed up his neck and said, “let me open the door.”

He reluctantly loosened his hold and she unwound herself from him enough to reach into her back pocket and get her wand out so she could lower the wards. She did so and he pushed the door open behind him, holding her up with one hand. They got inside and he closed the door behind them, pressing her up against it.

Hermione scraped her nails over his shoulders and he shuddered at the delicious sensation. She pressed her face to his neck and inhaled deeply. He smelled so good. She nipped his ear.

“Put me down,” she murmured, giving his neck kittenish licks. “I want to run.”

Marcus growled deep in his chest. If his Omega wanted to run like their ancestors had, he would be happy to chase. It was primitive and the thought of chasing her, of catching her made the Alpha in him delighted. He set her down and she took off.

She made her way quickly up her stairs, stumbling a little as she shed her shoes and then pulled off her jacket and dress. She was down to her bra and panties by the time she reached her bedroom.

For half of a second she thought of her scars, the neat line that ran between her breasts, courtesy of Dolohov, the ugly word carved into her arm, and had the urge to cover up. But she had lived with these scars for years now, and the moment passed as soon as she felt his large hand wrap around her wrist, and felt his breath on her neck.

The warmth of his body collided with hers and he pinned her to the bed, making sure to protect her head and neck as she fell. He gathered her delicate wrists in one of his hands and she arched against him, trying to get as much contact with his body as possible.

He used his free hand to grab his wand and vanish her underwear.

“Fuck,” she moaned, trying to get him to grind against her. “Those were my favorites.”

“I’ll buy you new ones,” said Marcus, peppering kisses down her neck. “Besides, those aren’t gone. I just sent them to my flat. You can come get them back.”

It suddenly struck Hermione that she was totally naked and he was still fully dressed. The thought made her pussy clench. She was vulnerable to him, literally bare in front of him, and he was looking at her ravenously. She renewed her efforts to try to get Marcus to touch somewhere, anywhere.

“Please,” her voice was sultry and breathless and she barely recognized it as her own. “Please, please touch me.”

“You beg so prettily Hermione.” His eyes raked down her form and he licked his lips. “Will you be my good girl?”

Hermione keened high in her throat, her clit throbbed, and she became hyper aware of every place their skin touched. It was amazing how fast he hit on one of her favorite kinks.

“Yes, yes Marcus, please, I’ll be your good girl I promise, please,” she babbled, rubbing her thighs together, trying to get friction anywhere.

He let her wrists go, but she kept them in place, determined to please her Alpha. He reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it off. His belt and slacks followed soon after. He attempted to control his movements, try to make them less frantic, but he wasn’t sure he came across as anything other than desperate. But Hermione was looking at him with hungry eyes, so he couldn’t bring himself to care all that much.

He was left in only his boxers, which were sporting an impressive tent and she drank the sight of him in. Quidditch had been kind to him. He didn’t have the physique of a body builder, but that of a man who was used to hard work. He was barrel chested, and she saw muscle pulled taut under skin dusted with freckles and black hair. She wanted to touch, she wanted to run her fingers over his nipples, to free his cock from his boxer briefs. But she would be a good girl for him, wanted to be his good girl.

She tilted her head to the side so that her neck was displayed, marking her as vulnerable, as submissive. 

“Please Alpha,” her mouth opened to beg him before she realized she was doing it. “Please let me touch you.”

He chuckled darkly and ran a blunt finger down her neck, between her breasts, and over her stomach, dragging it until it rested just above where she ached to be touched the most. She tried to arch her hips so that his finger would move just a little. He was so close to touching her how she needed. His scent was overwhelming and all she could think of was him.

“You’ve kept your hands to yourself, and I didn’t even have to ask.” His voice was dark and pleased and she preened at the compliment.

Without any warning he wrapped both arms around her thighs and dragged her to the bottom of her bed, so that her bum rested on the edge, with her legs spread wantonly. He used his thumbs to open her, putting her on display to him. She knew she should have felt embarrassed, but all she felt was decadent and lustful. He was looking at her like he wanted to make a meal of her. His mouth went to her core and she bucked against him.

It was all sensation, all at once, and it was overwhelming. 

He licked a stripe from her hole to her clit and then rubbed the tip of his tongue almost delicately around her bud of nerves, occasionally dipping down to her opening to taste the slick that gathered there. She had no control over what was coming out of her mouth, it alternated between his name, Alpha, and curse words. It was music to his ears.

This went on for several minutes before he eased one finger in her and began to drag it back and forth over her walls, exploring her. She knew what he must be looking for. She had looked for it herself. She had read so many womens magazines that talked about the mythical g-spot. But none of her previous partners had ever found it, and she hadn’t been able to either. She had tried her own fingers and even a specialized toy.

He added another finger and crooked them just so and then Hermione could swear she saw stars. Fuck, he had found it in less than a minute of searching. Marcus suctioned his mouth over her clit and moved one of his hands low on her abdomen to pin her in place.

She screamed his name as she came. She felt herself gush and she blushed. She must be so wet that she was leaking on to her sheets. That normally only happened during her heat. But she was so turned on right now that she couldn’t think straight.

She opened her eyes just in time to see Marcus drag his boxers down over his cock. Fuck he was huge. He was thick and uncut ad she could see that the knot at the base of his cock was half inflated. She wasn’t in heat and he wasn’t in a rut, so his knot would not fully inflate this time, but she could imagine it, she could imagine being that full, that stretched. It was a delicious thought.

She keened in need and he smiled down at her. She could see her slick coating his mouth and chin and it made her clench around nothing. It was so hot. 

He leaned down and she eagerly kissed him, tasting herself on his tongue. One of her hands tried to snake down to his cock, but he grabbed her wrist right before she reached her goal.

“Not now love, I want to come buried in your sweet cunt. If you touch me I’ll coat you in it instead.”

She whimpered. That was not a bad idea for another day. But she agreed with him, she wanted him in her when he came for the first time. Her pussy felt swollen and needy just thinking about it.

She scrambled back on the bed to give him room. He maneuvered himself so that he knelt between her spread legs. She canted her hips to give him better access and he leaned forward, guiding his cock to her center.

She felt the head of his cock press against her entrance. He was thicker than anyone she had been with before, and it had been a while, so she knew it would be a stretch.

He pressed into her. It pinched a little at first, but she was so wet that he was able to slide in without any pain besides the delicious burn.

She groaned. This was delectable. She felt so full. Her inner muscles spasmed around him involuntarily and he grit his teeth, trying to remember Quidditch statistics.

“Fuck,” he ground out. “Your so tight. Being between your thighs feels like home.”

She felt his half inflated knot press up against her clit. “Please Alpha, please pleasepleaseplease.” She wasn’t sure exactly what she was begging for, but she needed it.

“Not yet” He ground his hips against her and she arched into it, trying to get more friction on her clit.

“Marcus” his name came out as a plea.

He withdrew partially and pistoned his hips back into her, finding a rhythm that satisfied them both.

The tip of his cock was dragging back and forth over the spot inside of her that she would have sworn just thirty minutes ago didn’t exist. She was so close to flying apart at the seams. She babbled pleas and curse words and his name over and over.

“Not yet Omega. You won’t come until I say you can.” He emphasized his point with a particularly brutal thrust, and she moaned in response, raking her nails down his back.

He withdrew completely and she felt the loss of him keenly. Before she could whimper her displeasure he man-handled her on to her hands and knees, and pushed back into her.

“Fuck, Marcus, you’re so deep.” Her words came out a breathless rush.

“I’m close love.” Marcus reached one hand around to circle her clit, his rough fingers making it feel spectacular. He used his other hand to lace through her hair, grabbing a handful and pulling. It was just this side of painful and she loved it.

“Come for me Omega,” Marcus growled. 

She must have screamed, but she wasn’t fully aware of her actions as her pussy clenched down on his cock and her vision greyed out at the edges. She felt her thighs shuddering and she would have collapsed if Marcus hadn’t been holding her up, one hand still in her hair and the other gripping her hip in a way she was sure would leave bruises.

His mouth was at her neck and he bit down, not where she wanted him to bite her, not making a mating mark, but it was close and the sharp pain of it added to the strength of her orgasm.

His half-inflated knot was fully in her and she could feel it stretching her wide. She knew that when she was in heat her pheremones would made his knot even bigger. She suppresed a giggle at the fleeting thought that she wasn’t sure how she would deal with that, seeing as she felt streched to her limit now.

He came inside her with a groan, grinding his hips against hers and the sensation felt like she was having aftershock to her orgasm, her core clenching down on his cock over and over again. The pulse of his cock was pleasureable and she knew that if she wasn’t so overstimulated, she might have come again.

“Fuck.” Her voice was wrecked and broke at the end.

Marcus ran a large hand down her flank in a soothing motion before gathering her to him. They were tied together, so it was a little awkward, but he manuevered them so that he was spooning her. She settled back against him and grabbed one of his hands in hers, tucking it under her chin.

They wouldn’t be tied for very long. If he were in a rut or if she was in heat they would be tied together for at least 12 minutes. Bur neither of them were in that heightened state, so they would be free of each other in less than two.

He kissed the top of her head and inhaled the scent of her. She still smelled like herself, that underlying sweetness. But she also smelled like him now. He purred, deep in his chest, content.

“You were such a good girl for me, my Omega.”

Hermione brought his hand to her mouth and pressed a kiss into his palm.

“Yours” she said quietly. She kissed his hand again. “And you’re mine. My Alpha.”

Marcus’ breath caught and he felt something warm bloom in his chest. 

“Yes Hermione, I’m yours.”

Hermione let out a contented sight and tried to wiggle deeper into his embrace. After a minute of comfortable silence Marcus realized he was able to disengage from her. He pulled away and she made an unhappy noise.

He kissed her forehead in consolation and stood. He made his way to her bathroom and wet a wash cloth with warm water. He made a breif detour to her kitchen and rummaged through her cabinets until he could find a glass. He got her water and made his way back to the bedroom.

Hermione was still curled in the bed where he had left her. He set the glass of water on the side table closest to her. He first wiped the washcloth over her face that was still red and sweaty from their exertions, He then made his way down her neck, where he saw various lovebites darkening, and then down her beautiful breasts. Finally he made his way between her thighs, cleaning up the mess they made there. The evidence of their love making made his cock twitch in interest, but he set the thought of another round aside in favor of helping her to sit so that she could drink the water he brought her. She finished drinking and he set aside the glass.

Quickly he went to where his clothes had been abandoned and got out his wand. He cleaned the bedding with a flick and a muttered spell, and then set his wand down.

He settled on the bed next to her and she moved so that she could lay on his chest with her head tucked under his chin. She dragged one of his hands up so that he wrapped an arm around her, hand splayed wide on her back, holding her against him. He used his other hand to pull the covers over them. He reached over to his wand and used it to turn off the lights, and then pet down Hermione’s back, running his hand down the length of her. She purred against him and it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.

He felt her drift to sleep against him and he sighed in contentment.

He was so lucky.

* * *

She woke up feeling safe and warm. 

She knew he was still there before she opened her eyes. She was enveloped in his scent and could feel his arm wrapped around her, holding her securely. They had shifted during the night and she was the little spoon to his big spoon. His face was buried in the crook of her neck and their legs were tangled together. She made a sound of pleasure and snuggled against him more. He sighed happily in his sleep and nuzzled her neck.

She was thrilled. Her parents were right. When she met him, she was afraid, but she knew that he was hers. And last night, and the date, and the call, and the letter had convinced her. Sure she wasn’t about to have pups with him right at this very second, but she knew deep in her soul that he was it. That one day in the not too distant future she would wear his mark, be round with his children, and be deeply in love.

And she couldn’t wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go, my first complete fic in 12 years.
> 
> This was so delightful to write. I will probably write again in this pairing, but nor for a while. I might at some point write a more complete epilogue, but that's not on my to-do list right now.
> 
> I'm currently neck deep in an Arthurian/Lord Potter v long HHR fic, but I like having multiple things going at once, so I should be putting up something new in the next few weeks. Stay tuned!


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